


A Story You Would Not Believe

by Fen_Assan



Category: The Witcher 3:Wild Hunt, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, But Fun (Hopefully), Crack, F/M, Humor, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Other, Parody, Romance, Such Lore Much Wow, Utterly Ridiculous, Witcher Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6571393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Assan/pseuds/Fen_Assan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crack fic about the unicorn on which Geralt and Yennefer make love. <br/>Can it get even more ridiculuos? <br/>It can. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Story You Would Not Believe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a light-hearted, not-to-be-taken-seriously fic, in which the main role belongs to the famous unicorn and other OC creatures from the Witcher lore. There are no in-game spoilers (except for Geralt and Yennefer being together), and all of it is completely made-up.
> 
> Hope you have a giggle while reading it, as I had while writing it. :) I'll be happy to know what you think, so do leave a comment. ;)

The man grunted his release and slumped over the woman's body. _Wait, what? What's going on here? Are those...his balls?? Is this...her... Oh, gods! Ewww._ And he could not even move.

***

The sun came up above as sun is known to do each day. _Almost each that is, except when it bloody rains then there is no sun, oh how I hate such weather - it makes my mane frizz up,_ thought Portekalis. He shook his head lightly to let the said white mane cascade with the motion, like a shimmering waterfall under the silver starlight. He neighed softly to himself, contented, as he continued moving slowly, high-stepping, lifting his legs to match his head held up high - though not as high as in the clouds, or on particular kinds of mushrooms. He did not have the habit of partaking of such mushrooms, mind you, but he was well aware of the science and the theory behind their frivolous effects.

His vocal cords were nothing like those of the useless creatures walking on two legs, but he could speak perfectly well; and his articulation did not suffer at all from the fact that he had no need to open his mouth to speak. But because he could speak, he did, to be exact he was now tutting with distate - he disliked the sound of his hooves on the soft grassed ground as it sounded dull. He much preferred the ring and clack of his dignified trot to be heard on the stones. Especially stone paths under low bridges: thouse were the best, for such quite a marvellous echo they provided.

Portekalis had not been under a bridge in a long time, he had not been anywhere, he just had not been for a really long time now. But it was finally over.

"Oh how I rejoice!" He sang, lifting one front leg and twitching his head so that the perfect snowy-white mane flowed over the left side of his muscular body - he knew his left profile was preferable to his right.

His trot eased up as the forest became less dense, and dodging the trees in his way did not require much effort. He remembered the way, even after so many years. He was close. The last part of his journey was not exactly troublesome - he was a magnificent specimen of an incredible kind of creature after all - yes, very _very_ special - but the climb up the hill did make him pout with annoyance. Now, you would think it was physically impossible for him to pout, but this is a fantastic story about fantastic beasts, so there you go: he pouted, as his hooves scratched against the protruding jagged rocks of the hill.

At the top, he found himself on a familiar clearing overlooking the churning, rushing waves of the Northern Sea. On the highest point, there stood an ancient menhir, so ancient it was much older than himself or anyone he had ever met. He had not visited the place in years, no, decades, he was in fact not certain as to how many years he had spent trapped by that ugly spell.

Portekalis walked gracefully towards the standing stone, making sure he looked fabulous even though he knew there was no one there to admire him - the tiny snow hares hopping around did not count - it was simply in his nature.

"Ah, good," he sighed with relief as he saw a large twisted spiral shell sitting at the top of the stone. No means holding it there were visible, but he was not a plebeian to not know that it was held there by primeval magic.

"Tsk, how inconvenient," he complained, realizing he would have to lower his head for his lips to reach the shell. "This is not at all dignified." He shook his beautiful head, catching a glimpse of his lovely mane fluttering, then quite ungracefully screwed his eyes towards the middle, and closed each eye in turn to check the angle of his horn. It was perfect. He sighed contentedly and finally blew into the shell. The deep, sonorous sound spread over the sea and across the land and beyond, calling for other mystical creatures to this special magical place.

He stopped for a moment, smacking his lips and licking them before blowing again. It was tedious really, the horn having to be blown thrice for this ritual.

"Oh, I'm parched. I should have stopped by the stream, mhm, how unfortunate. Will have to count on finding some dewy grass around here later. Ah well, it serves me right for neglecting my own health and wellbeing in such a way. Mhm, all right, back to blowing." And twice more he blew. Quite satisfied with having fulfilled the task to the best of his, and let us be honest, anyone's abilities, he stood between the menhir and the edge of the cliff, where the wind fluttered his long mane of the purest white in a way so pleasing to the eye. If any eye were to witness it, that is, for no one had answered his call yet.

Fortunately, Portekalis was not forced to hold the pose for too long. Soon, a creature emerged from down the hill, its movements - slowness and grace and sinfulness itself. A human-like figure, but ever so slight and almost translucent. She was wearing a long sheer robe with long wide sleeves and a decently cut neckline; but the fabric was as if made of the finest gossamer and did not cover much of the swell of her full rounded bosoms and the triangle of light hair between her legs. The hair was the same colour as the long strawberry-blonde on her pretty little head, somewhat tamed by a wreath made out of field flowers and water lilies and long river grasses. As the rusalka neared, he noticed her eyes were mossy green and shimmering: just like the soaked moss on the stones, over which the clearest water of a river ran down from a mountain; the river she must have come from.

"Oh," even the very first sound of her melodic voice sounded alluring, even to Portekalis, who was by no means interested in what a rulaska had to offer, "I haven't met a unicorn in a long time. I am Vesenia." She lifted her hand as she approached, and somewhat against his will, he let her pat him gently on his beautiful long neck, although she was by no means a virgin. Then again, he personally was not into virgins - human, rusalka, unicorn, or any kind really. He preferred someone more experienced, someone strong, decisive, in control, someone... He shook his head quickly, as if waking up from an enchantment. Probably exactly waking up from an enchantment.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Vesenia. I am called Portekalis. And I am not surprised there is a lack of unicorns around. It is almost a miracle I am here myself. You see, I was enchanted."

"Is that why you called? Do you need assistance?" She was skimming him with her huge eyes, from the sharp point of his single, one must admit, exceptionally long and straight and beautifully spiralled horn, to his hooves and his tail that trailed behind him, being possibly just a little too long. He nodded slightly, but to the side, letting her know she was not precisely correct in her assumptions.

"Not of any immediate kind, no, but I do need an ear, for this tale has to be heard and spread as a warning to others." She nodded and sat on a large stone of a relatively smooth and flat surface, crossing her legs. Her gown was draped over them, but provided no mystery whatsoever. Portekalis shuddered slightly with momentary distaste, but then sighed and shrugged - or he would have shrugged if it was physically possible for unicorns to do so. Such behaviour was typical and natural for rusalki, that was what they did - they lured, so there was no sense in getting upset over being presented with the practically unrestricted view of her nether regions.

"Have there been any meetings here lately? Do you know of any other creatures who might appear?" He asked, changing the subject of his thoughts. She shook her head slowly, allowing her hair to cascade from her shoulders and find shelter in the valley between her breasts. 

"No one has called for a meeting here in a long time. But there should be more of us; someone else will answer the call, I'm sure. We might just wait and see. It is a lovely day today," she waved a hand to indicate the loveliness of the sunlit meadow, full of blooming flowers and moving long grasses, carried and twisted by the wind. Vesenia gave him a sweet smile, and he noted how well the flowers in her wreath agreed with the colour of her eyes and the sheereness of her dress. "Tell me about yourself."

He nodded approvingly. That was an offer Portekalis could never refuse, for he bore an intense and all-encompassing love for that fascinating subject of colloquy - himself. He was no stranger to storytelling either: he spun a story like, or even better than a middle-aged woman spun her yarn. However, the arrival of two more mythical creatues soon interrupted the unicorn in the bestowal of his eloquence, forcing him to stop having only covered his early carefree years as a colt.

The two new members came from the opposite sides, and hardly bore any senblance to each other at all. From above came a shadow and a gust of wind as enormous wings beat slowly to allow a creature resembling a huge bird of prey to land. The rusalka lifted her hand, holding her wreath cocketishly, as not to let it be carried away on the wind, and laughed melodiously. Portekalis was slightly less impressed as he did not appreciate his mane getting into his eyes from all the whirlwind, but when he noticed the last attendant, he realized he was going to be inclined rather more towards the "bird". For the other creature looked like a misshappen and unfortunate fruit of love between a fat human and an average goat.

 _A sylvan,_ the unicorn snorted, _never liked their kind._ The sylvan carried his rotund body on comically thin, hairy, cloven-hooved legs; his head featured horns and a busy mouth, which seemed to be constantly chewing non-existant food. Those prominent features turned his appearance into a weird combination of goat with inserted parts of human, or vice versa, which alas did not make the image any prettier. The creature's character was not to be a betterment to the situation either, as sylvans, having adopted more of human weaknesses and vices than strengths, were known for being lazy, gluttonous, and treacherous. They were intelligent creatures though, and had a full right and obligation to answer the call of the ritual.

The sylvan's goaty mouth stretched in a lecherous smile the very moment he saw Vesenia. She had noticed him too, however, and swiftly slid down the rock to approach the bird-like creature. It sat there quietly, huge eyes like a hawk's blinking intently as he took in everyone present. He held his head high, proudly, only lowering it slightly when the rusalka came close, extending her hand. Portekalis wondered if it was her habit to touch and pat all her new acquaintances, or it only referred to the physically appealing ones. There was a good chance to test his theory with the sylvan there. He then realized he was not actually sure what exactly the flying creature was.

"I welcome you, friends," he started, nodding to both newcomers, "and thank you for answering my call. I am Portekalis, and the beautiful lady among us is Vesenia. Would you mind introducing yourselves?"

"Korque," the sylvan said in a surprisingly low voice - Portekalis almost expected him to actually bleat. His introduction ended there, as he started looking about somewhat disappointedly, as if searching for a banquet that was not there; but soon returned to ogling Vesenia.

"Greetings. I am Faaren." The rusalka smiled, and Portekalis inclined his head to match the flying creature's polite gesture, when the sylvan shoved his fists onto his fat sides and snorted derisively.

"And what about you, bird, heh?" It was when the unicorn realized the "bird" had used telepathy, which the sylvan was the only one present unable to perceive. Portekalis sniggered secretly. He definitely liked the "bird" more now. "What are ye even?" The sylvan did not stop at the glowering gaze of the one he was addressing. Finally, a booming voice came, without the creature opening his beak.

"You would be wise to remember my name, so I am giving you time to concentrate and pay attention. It is Faaren. Rocs do not as a rule prey on," he paused emphatically, " lesser intelligent creatures, but there is room for exception in every rule. Remember that."

 _A roc! Of course!_ Portekalis thought excitedly. He noticed how the bird-like creature had been eyeing the large rocks lying about. He quickly switched to speaking aloud.

"I thought rocs have gone almost extinct! There were reputedly only about a dozen left living somewhere on the southern coast, and there have probably been none seen in Skellige...ever!" The roc sighed, lowering his head, and blinked, his enormous eye boring into everything he looked at with focus and precision. Portekalis knew he could see the minutest detail.

"Your information is outdated, I'm afraid. There are only eight of us left in the south. And Skellige...my mate and I have found a new home here. There are enough crags and high rocky areas. Not as lucky with rhinoceros, but well, sacrifices have to be made. We prey on smaller beasts - there are enough bears here yet."

Vesenia was stroking Faaren's huge wing, dark feathers somehow looking stiff and silky soft at the same time, and Korque was standing a bit aside, looking a little uncomfortable. The rusalka gasped suddenly.

"Your mate, is she not coming?" Strangely enough, she looked pleased when the roc shook his head gently. In fact, she beamed at him, which Portekalis thought was quite rude actually. "It means," Vesenia started excitedly, eyes shining, "she had to stay and protect the nest, didn't she? It means... you have the young, don't you?"

Ah. So that's what it was about. Maidens and babies. Or, rusalki and little chicks, which were in fact probably huge. _Hmm, I wonder how big the chicks really are_...

His musings were interrupted by the response from Faaren, whose voice had perceptibly softened.

"They have not hatched yet, but yes, they might become the first generation of rocs in Skellige for ages. First new generation anywhere on the Continent in a very long time, too." Vesenia clapped her hands and bounced on her feet happily. The cheerful bounce of particular parts of her body attracted all the attention of Korque, who had not been participating in the conversation, save for occasional grunts and yawns.

"That is so wonderful! Congratulations!" The rusalka rushed to hug the dragon-sized bird's breast. The roc did not mind at all, in fact he bent his neck, lowered his head, and eventually wrapped his wings around her, making her disappear from view except for the strawberry-blonde of the top of her head.

Portekalis sighed. It was a touching moment. No, it was nice, really, it was - the huge nearly extinct baby-birds and all. And yet, he could not help but feel that Faaren and his eggs had completely stolen his show. For it was he who had sounded the shell and summoned the meeting, so it was him they were supposed to talk about, it was him they were supposed to listen to, it was his story they were supposed to be surprised and disgusted and amazed by. It was he who had spent years, even decades, enchanted, immobile, and not himself, and who had been used for all sorts of indecencies, and called a stuffed unicorn at that! It was he who had been released from the confines of that awful spell by who knows which means. It was indeed a miracle he was still alive and there and able to tell the story, if only they listened, if only they hung on his every word and admired his bravery, and his uniqueness, and his storytelling talent. If only...

He stopped. Stopped the rushing flow of the near unstoppable wave of his thoughts and emotions because everyone was looking at him, stunned. Well, Vesenia and Faaren looked stunned, while Korque was simply annoyed, wobbling his fat belly from side to side as he switched his considerable weight from one ridiculously thin goat leg to the other. The sylvan did not seek eye contact because he had not heard a single word Portekalis had been thinking. The sylvan was devoid of the gift of telepathy, which the unicorn had forgot to switch off, and for which he would be happy to slap himself on the forehead had he been able to do that, and had he not had his wonderful white long straight spiraled pointy horn.

 _Oh hell and damnation_! Now he was going to be embarrassed because of his thoughts! As if it was not enough to have been mistreated and humiliated by the vile acts of that mutant and that sorceress... bitch - she was such a bitch it was unbelievable - which they had done right on his back! On his back! With his mutant balls rubbing against Portekalis' exquisite white hide, and her...juices...soaking into it...ugh.

"Oh no," he stopped again. This time for two reasons. First - he still had not switched his telepathy off, and his two fellow mystical creatures were now staring at him in disbelief, their mouths - her mouth and his beak - gaping open in horror. Second - he was going to be sick: noisily, profoundly, unavoidably and uglily sick. _Oh gods, is uglily even a word? It sounds weird,_ he lamented weakly.

He only had a moment to round his eyes, press his lips together, look around in mild panic, and dash a few paces to the side, where he was. Sick, that is. In the process, which thankfully only lasted for a few entirely unpleasant moments, he noticed that Vesenia had leapt to his side, and, although she had covered her mouth briefly to fight the gagging reflex, she was now holding his beautiful mane to keep it clean, and gently stroking his neck. He liked that. Even though he was not into women of the rusalka kind, or any kind if he were honest. Her hands though, felt gentle, and comforting, and pleasant. He sighed and looked at her with eyes at the same time guilty and seeking more attention. He might have even pouted a bit. Vesenia smiled sweetly, let go of his mane untouched by filth, and bent to rip a bunch of broad-leaved grass from the earth. She used it to wipe his mouth. He bent his head low and looked up at her from below his long, curved white eyelashes. _"Thank you,"_ he thought, and she nodded in response, smiling some more.

Portekalis took a deep breath, shook his mane, feeling wistful for the power to magically slow time to show off the magnificence of his cascading silvery-white mane, and faced the others. Faaren came close and placed a few choice rocks in front of the unicorn. It was a gesture of huge significance for rocs, as laying rocks at another's feet instead of throwing them showed kindness, support, and friendship. Portekalis did not only bend his neck this time, but stepped back and bent one front leg in a bow.

"Thank you, friends," he uttered aloud tearily, addressing the roc and the rusalka. The sylvan had done nothing for him at all, thus not deserving even a bit of his gratitude and appreciation. He did come closer now though, and asked, scratching his unimpressive beard.

"What's all that 'bout?" Vesenia made amends by turning his ungainly question into a more graceful enquiry.

"Yes, Portekalis, are you alright?" When he nodded pitifully, she continued. "Will you tell us your story? Please?" Korque nodded enthusiastically, and Faaren blinked his huge shiny eye in confirmation of his interest. A warmth spread through the whole of Portekalis' being. Of course he would. He would tell them everything.

***

Hours later, when the briefly burning afternoon sun was turning into a mellow evening one, nobody knew how anymore, but they were having a feast. There were fruits and nuts, and even meat on clean tablecloths spread on the grass, and in the middle of their little circle there stood an almost empty bucket of mead. Strictly speaking, it was a barrel, but Korque had successfully rid it off the lid, and his unexpected strength had come in handy when he had managed to bend the planks into a wider opening that allowed each of them to partake of the drink.

The sylvan burped and froze with a chicken leg halfway to his mouth.

"And _then_ the spell started breaking? At that moment? Just as they were f..." Vesenia shot a disapproving glance at Korque, which for some reason did make him stop before he belched out the profanity.

"Indeed, right then," Portekalis nodded. "And the process was incredibly slow, and... I could hear and feel everything but was unable to move, so had to endure the whole...disturbingly long...thing. Ugh."

"You're shitting me," the sylvan bit on the chicken leg again. Portekalis crossed his front legs - by then he was sitting with his rump on one of the flatter rocks Faaren had gifted him - and scoffed at Korque.

"I shit you not," and slurped some mead, almost scraping the bottom of the buckety barrel with his teeth.

"How do you think the spell was broken? After so many years of nothing happening, how now? Why here? Where next?" Portekalis had already noticed that Vesenia, once she had got slightly tipsy, became entagled in an assortment of questions, not all of which made sense. He crunched a carrot between his teeth thoughtfully.

"I don't truly know. I mean, that man, the mutant, the Witcher, talked to the sorceress about breaking curses and spells. He said there were two things that were equally powerful - blood and love. Only..."

"What?" Exhaled Vesenia, visibly holding her breath, her eyes glazed not so much with drink now as with longing.

"Only it has to be true love," he shrugged, and the rusalka bit her lip.

"I understand they were in fact...making love...on you...but blood?" Her question made Portekalis shudder at the memories of their distasteful deeds. Before he could say anything though, Korque joined the discussion again.

"I bet that sorceress is kinky as hell."

"She is, I tell you," Unicorn confirmed, taking another bite of the carrot.

"We should avenge your honour," Faaren's voice boomed after a long period of silence, making them all start as each was deep in their own thoughts. The words of approval followed from the others, and Portekalis had to admit he enjoyed such camaraderie directed at him.

"Yes, yes, we should. For me, and for all other mistreated and misunderstood mystical beings. But how?"

"One rock would be enough. My aim is exceptional," Faaren proffered. But however much Portekalis enjoyed the idea of getting back at the sorceress, who he was certain knew he was a real unicorn trapped by a curse all along, and teaching her and her lover a lesson, he found the image of their two bodies turned into unappealing smudges on the ground not satisfying in the least. No, he did not want to kill them, he wanted to make them uncomfortable, very very uncomfortable. Hmm.

"You know what they say about rusalki? Not all of that is true, or complete for that matter, but we can indeed lure men into the water, if we want to, or make them dance without stop until they perish from exhaustion, or...do other things without stop until they perish from exhaustion. I would be ready provide my charms to pay back to that...Geralt, is it?" She did try to assume a disinterested and nonchalant expression, as if she did not truly remember the Witcher's name, but Portekalis saw right through it.

"No, dear, that would not work. The Witcher would not allow to be lured into the murky waters for sure, and as for other activities, well. His stamina, to my dismay and the sorceress's indecent delight at the time, seems to be a thing of legend. So even if you fucked him into eternity, I don't think he'd perish from it," he addded slowly and thoughtfully, turning a long blade of grass in his mouth without chewing it. Only then did he notice his own slipped profanity. He darted a look at Vesenia, but her reaction was not at all what he expected. Instead of being indignant at the expletive, she looked positively dreamy. _Women are strange,_ he thought with conviction. 

"I know!" She exclaimed, and the unicorn prepared to hear another revenge plan based on one sexual activity or other. He was not disappointed. Or he was. He was at a point of having conflicting emotions about stuff. He hiccuped, jerking slightly. "We can do to them the same thing they did to you, Portekalis!" His eyes widened and his jaw hung open.

"Are you going to suggest having coitus on top of their backs?! Talk about kinky," he shuddered in pure horror and disgust.

"Well not exactly, of course. They are staying at the private wing of the inn, right? We can do that on the roof right above them. Torture them with the noise, not let them sleep for a moment. Believe me," she leaned on one elbow, lying on the grass, and crossed one shapely leg over the other for effect, "I can be very vocal." Korque swallowed loudly and nervously, Portekalis fought the bile coming up from his stomach, and Faaren opened and folded his wings with something that sounded amazingly like a smirk, though how it was possible for an enormous bird to smirk was beyond understanding. Next, the roc spoke in such a suave voice Portekalis shuddered again, this time as some a lot more pleasant feeling ran across his hide, scattering goose bumps on the skin under his white coat.

"Hmm. I assure you, my darling Vesenia, that my mate and I can be profoundly more vocal." At this, even the rusalka blushed. She cleared her throat before speaking again.

"So it is decided then? I shall try first, and if I fail to disturb them enough, Faaren and..." she eyed him questioningly, and he provided the information she sought.

"Ethgeirtanaelia," he said with utmost respect and devotion. 

"Ethgeirtanaelia," Vesenia repeated without a pause or stumble, "will join the mission. In fact, they should join anyway, even if I do succeed. We want to annoy them to the maximum, don't we? If our cherished roc couple drop only a tiny rock or two during their lovemaking and break a part of the roof, well, all the better, for the sorceress is the one who'll be charged for it." Portekalis admitted the plan was not half so bad. He did not see his own role in it yet, but it was shaping into something worthy.

"What 'bout me?" Korque asked all of a sudden, salivating greatly as his small eyes shifted to and fro Vesenia's charms.

"No," she cut him off quickly and directly. "You are a sylvan, you are after all known for playing practical jokes on people. Like stealing food and drink," she gestured at the remains of their feast, "and breaking things in the household and such. Do that." He was looking particularly miserable, even the tassel on his tail fell flat to the ground, so Vesenia sweetened the pill. "You can bring them a lot of trouble. I'm sure you're very good at that." Sylvan's tail shot up, like that of a dog who had just been told that he was indeed a good boy. 

"So, it leaves you, dear Portekalis, how would you like to participate? Is there a...mate you can bring to the roof?" He sagged.

"No. I'm all alone. I haven't even seen another unicorn for...ages." Probably feeling they were in the same boat on this - what a horribly erroneous supposition - Korque tried to be helpful now.

"There are some pretty horses around here, I've seen, white ones even. Not like you, but white. Or maybe you prefer blacks ones? Yeah?" He got so excited by his idea, he actually scrambled up to his still ridiculously thin and hairy - in patches - legs. "Ooh, ooh, maybe you could make those black-and-white horse babies then, eh? If you, you know?" Portekalis closed his eyes very slowly. This was a moment he regretted not having fingers to rub at the bridge of his nose dramatically. Having a bridge of his nose would also be necessary for the effect, of course. And to think he had started to...not exactly like, but sort of fondly tolerate this creature. Information, very unlike food, had to be chewed for the sylvan before one could hope he was able to swallow it.

"It is," Portekalis drawled, "impossible. And also very unlikely for two stallions to produce offspring. Black-and-white or otherwise." The news seemed to have struck Korque dumb.

"I think," Unicorn continued, "my role will simply be in presenting myself to them in due moment. I will make sure they read my expression," he uttered, lifting his head proudly, and then added quickly and spitefully, "Besides, the bitch can use telepathy, so she will know."

And thus it was. Already the next day, the next night to be precise, they began their mission. It started with the little things, little - so as not to draw too much suspition all at once - but annoying. A few items of clothes had disappeared from the well-furnished private rooms Yennefer of Vengerberg and Geralt of Rivia shared. When they returned to the rooms quite late that evening - Yennefer arriving first - it was a good start of trouble. The sorceress was quick to fly into a temper, and not being able to find one of her favourite skirts to change into - the unimaginably indecent short back one - she yelled and smashed something made of glass as all the inn patrons well heard. They also heard her blaming the mess on Geralt. Korque, hiding in the barn right next to the rooms, gave a satisfied chuckle, regularly interrupted by the bites on a hefty piece of mutton he had stolen from the inn kitchens.

When Geralt finally arrived an hour later, visibly tired, he had no chance of avoiding the fight with Yennefer, who had not cooled down in the meantime. The conflict was brief though, and seemed to have ended with the couple having sex. Portekalis, who had joined his new-found companion now that the darkness had fallen, sighed. Was there anything that would deter these two from seeking bodily pleasures?

Vesenia appeared, leading a somewhat stupefied but quite good-looking, strong young man - a local raider judging by his tattoos - by the hand. She shoved him into the barn, and he took to heart her instructions to wait there. Slipping past him, she brushed his thigh and whispered something im his ear. Portekalis did not hear what, but he saw the lad's eyes glazing with desire.

As soon as the rusalka finally joined Portekalis and Korque, they updated her on how their revenge plan was going, in other words the ways they had so far employed to disrupt the couple's act of lovemaking. The variety of mundane means which were to serve as a prelude only, included rattling things, banging on the door and hiding, talking some birds into knocking on their window with their beaks and throwing small pebbles and twigs at it. They also of course made sure the dinner the sorceress had ordered never reached them. All that had some satisfying results as to the amount of annoyance caused to Yennefer amd Geralt, but the best part was yet to come, for they had just gone to sleep not long ago.

"Let's give them time to fall soundly asleep," Portekalis whispered, snickering. And so they did. The Skelliger, who was to participate in the act of revenge by pleasuring the beautiful Vesenia, had fallen asleep too, so all three of them had to join in waking him. The lad opened his eyes to the image of three faces bent over him - an exquisitely beautiful and gentle unicorn's, quite an ungly sylvan's, and of course, the alluring rusalka's. She had to make the poor soul believe it was all just a dream for him to come out of shock and climb on the roof with her. As soon as there, he needed not be spurred any further, and soon, the rusalka's melodic but resounding moans mixed with the lad's hoarse grunts and the rattle of the wooden planks on the roof. Just then, they all heard as if a bird's cry coming from a distance, only they knew those "birds" were as large as dragons.

The rocs alighted on the roof of the building adjacent to the private wing of the inn. Ethgeirtanaelia was beautiful - only a bit smaller than Faaren and her plumage of a lighter brown shade, but she held herself with the same pride, honour and magnificence. Portekalis bowed to her from a distance, and she inclined her head low in greeting. The two rocs then rubbed their necks together in an incredibly affectionate gesture for such large creatures, and for the rest, Portekalis turned away. Korque, however, remained seated, facing the spectacle straigh up, his mouth gaping open in something not unlike awe.

The rocs' lovemaking was truly raucous. It had the effect none of the mystical revenge-seekers had thought of - it had woken up the whole Kaer Trolde harbour. They heard people cursing, rummaging in their homes for torches, and finally, whistling and cheering as they spilt outside and saw what had caused all the commotion. The unexpected audience did not stop either the rocs or the rusalka and her raider; in fact the both couple's sinful screams were turning into a crescendo.

Finally, the door to the private wing of the inn creaked and then banged open, and the sorceress, angry and slightly dishevelled, appeared in the doorframe. Her raven black hair was tousled, violet eyes sparkled with fury, and her blouse was half undone. Man's arms wrapped around her waist, and a white-haired head settled in the crook of her neck from behind, as the Witcher tried to stop her, or at least calm her down.

"Yen," Portekalis heard him say. She paid her lover no heed and stomped outside in her high-heeled boots, and looked up to the roof menacingly, settling her clenched fists on her shapely hips. She muttered something, a curse the unicorn did not understand, but he heard Geralt's reaction well enough.

"Bloody hell," the Witcher rasped in his gravelly voice, which sounded quite surprised, not at all shocked, but rather impressed. Portekalis realized with mounting unease that he in fact...liked that voice. It was insane, he hated the man and his sorceress for what they had done to him! Those dirty kinky bastards. He shook his beautiful head. His revenge seemed to not quite go as intended, as they lost the leading role immediately once Yennefer turned around and murmured a spell in Elder speech, waving her hands expertly, looking at the crowd that had gathered.

"Go home, there is nothing to see here, you have been only dreaming." And the humans listened to her: they dutifully picked up and left for their homes, extinguishing their torches, and shutting the doors behind them. There were only them left: the subjects and the objects of revenge.

"So who's in charge of this...performance?" The sorceress enquired hautily. Portekalis stepped out into the light of the moon, without saying a word, or even thinking a word, but she knew, and she turned. Her eyes widened, but not as much as Geralt's, and her lashes fluttered, but Geralt's did not.

"You?.." The Witcher started, but apparently had no idea how to continue that sentence, so he started a new one relatively soon. "I...don't know how it's possible, but...if you've been real, alive all along, then...I'm sorry. Sorry for..." He spread his arms instead of saying "for all the fucks we had on your back. By the way, I actually hated it. It was mighty uncomfortable and bloody ridiculous. But you know, women..." Portekalis did not know the Witcher possessed the gift of telepathy too, but he knew about women. They were...strange. Pretty, intelligent, special, sometimes precious even, but impossibly strange and strangely impossible.

"I know," he thought back to Geralt and the Witcher smirked at him just as Yennefer poked him in the ribs with her elbow. That was apparently her way to apologize to Portekalis. Ah well. That was...something.

"Uh-uh-aaaaaaaaa!" Vesenia cried her release, the local lad had apparently been quite good. The rocs, whose noises had become more intense as well, suddenly took to the sky and flew high up, twisting and intertwining their bodies there, twirling through the air, finally splitting it with possibly the loudest orgasmic sound in all of the spheres. They disappeared from view and did not come back. By that time, Vesenia's partner's charm had worn off and he was looking at himself on the roof, his manhood hanging freely from his breeches, a rusalka by his side and representatives of various other races looking at him with curiosity. He would have gone into another shock, had Yennefer not done her magic on him too and sent him safely home with a deep conviction he had had an amazingly vivid fantastical dream. 

Vesenia dangled her feet from the roof and smiled at the sorceress uncertainly but gratefully. The Witcher's hand found its way around Yennefer's hip. She half turned to look at him, lifting one brow as if in disbelief. He raised both brows in response.

"What? I didn't say anything."

"You thought something very loudly. I'm sure the unicorn heard you too." He did. "Ah well, I've never been with a rusalka before," Yennefer continued teasingly, "if you really want to, she can join us." She gave Geralt a daring smirk, the one some women know to do - the one that meant Geralt had no idea if she was being serious or only testing him in some way. The Witcher stood there, his eyes shifting from the smiling Vesenia, who was more than obviously willing, to Yennefer, who had disappeared behind the door but had left it open.

Geralt finally turned to Portekalis. The unicorn looked at him, looked at Vesenia, who joined in with the pleading eyes, biting her lip enticingly. He shook his head. Not in refusal, rather in disbelief.

"Of course," he said aloud, " have fun." He turned and started walking away in a slow dignified manner. It was probably worth looking for that black stallion after all.


End file.
